


Mr New Librarian

by M3zzaTh3M3z



Category: Widdershins (Webcomic)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Demisexual Character, Gen, Interlude, Missing Scene, Prompt: Pride, between curtain call and hangman's knot, written for bentober19
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-18
Updated: 2019-12-07
Packaged: 2020-12-22 18:21:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21081008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/M3zzaTh3M3z/pseuds/M3zzaTh3M3z
Summary: Ben's only been working at the university library a week when he catches a student trying to sneak in. His name is William Sharpe, and he seems to be in trouble.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Timeline wise, if Ben got the job quickly and there's a short time between Will's arrest and HK this is just about possible!

Ben was in the middle of peacefully re-shelving philosophy books when the alarms went off. 

He tutted, set down the remaining volumes, and made his way over to the doors to see which of the perpetually confused first-years had tried to wander off with a book this time. In the week he’d been working at the university library, it had already happened five times. He’d have minded less if they weren’t nearing the  _ end _ of the academic year.

He was certain he hadn’t been so foolish when he was eighteen.

When he reached the library’s grand double doors though, the student he found wasn’t guiltily clutching a book and ready with a hundred apologies, as the others had been, but leaning against the wall almost entirely carefree - except the positioning was slightly awkward because his feet were still glued to the ground by the security spell. Strangest of all, he seemed to have been on his way  _ in. _

As Ben approached, the boy looked up and grinned. Even Ben, with his general disinterest, could tell he was handsome, and he had that annoying air to him suggesting he was used to everything going his way, which made Ben dislike him on principle. Petty perhaps, but he’d just interrupted Ben’s favourite task of the day. He was allowed a little pettiness. 

“Right,” the boy began, his voice low and confidential, like he was sharing a secret only with Ben. “I know I’m not  _ supposed _ to be in here, but –“

Ben frowned and cut him off with a sharp wave of his hand. “You aren’t? I thought the library was open to all students.  _ Prohibe Phasmia, _ ” he added, and the clanging alarms stopped. 

His feet now free, the boy adjusted his stance into something even more relaxed, before slowly looking Ben up and down. “You’re not one of the regular librarians, are you?”

“I started last week.”

“That so?” The boy raised an eyebrow. “Still, I can’t help feeling like we’ve met before.”

“I’m certain we haven’t,” Ben replied, and he might not be much good with socialising but he was certain on this. He tended to remember tall, irritating people with fancy hair, though not for the same reason, say, Wolfe would. And even without that, the boy’s sense of style was rather unique – he wore a garish purple suit with a flouncy cravat, and though it had been a nuisance replacing the clothes he lost in the fire, Ben would rather live in his sole surviving outfit for the rest of his days than ever put on something like that. 

“Oh, well that’s a shame. Least we’ve met now, eh?” With a wink, the boy stuck out his hand. “William Sharpe, third year. Pleasure to meet you, Mr New Librarian.”

Ben stared at his hand for a moment, unsure how to respond. Handshakes weren’t supposed to be accompanied by winks. That wasn’t how introducing yourself  _ worked. _ And what was he supposed to do with ‘Mr New Librarian?’ Still, he was wearing his gloves, and he didn’t  _ try _ to be rude to people, so he took Sharpe’s hand and shook it briefly. “Benjamin Thackerey.”

“Benjamin Thackerey…” Sharpe repeated, like he was rolling the sounds around his mouth. “No, not familiar. But  _ you _ are. I’m sure it’ll come to me sometime. I’ll let you know. Until then –“ He made to head into the library, but Ben stepped across and blocked his path. 

“ _ Why _ , exactly, aren’t you supposed to be in here?” he demanded, and Sharpe might have half a head on him but he had over a year’s experience of facing down Deadly Sins and telling O’Malley to wipe his boots.

Sharpe’s smile briefly faltered before springing back full force. He smiled too much for Ben’s liking – not like Wolfe did, simply because he felt like smiling, but Sharpe smiled like a mask. “ _ Exactly _ is a fairly long story,” he said. “I’m sure the head librarian has the full records. Nothing awful, truly – a few late returns, a couple of dog-eared pages, a History of Magic textbook  _ may _ have been dropped in the river, I  _ might  _ have got caught napping on the desks once too often…” Upon noticing Ben’s hardening expression, he held up his hands and backtracked. “But that was all in the past! I know how to treat books with proper respect now!”

Ben frowned and folded his arms, trying not to think of his lovely collection gone up in flame. At least his books had never had to suffer the treatment of this delinquent. “I should hope so too. So, if you have been banned, why were you trying to come in here anyway? You must have known you’d set off the alarms. And disrupt everyone else who’s trying to study, for that matter.”

“I’m trying to study too!” Sharpe replied, drawing himself up in affront. “It’s hardly my fault if the alarms are so loud. I wasn’t planning to set them off anyway, I thought my permission slip from last time would still work.”

“Permission slip?”

“I still need access to the books occasionally. I have to tell one of the professors what I need and they have to sign saying I’m allowed to go read it, and then carrying it gets me through the wards somehow. A dreadful bother for everyone involved, so I thought it would be better just to pop in without troubling anyone.”

“Except for me.”

Sharpe smiled and raised his eyebrows. “That was accidental. But a happy accident, don’t you think?”

“Not particularly.” Ben sighed and turned to go. “Get your permission slip in order, then you may return.”

“Wait! I can’t –“ There was something desperate in Sharpe’s voice and when Ben turned back, he found him with his hands thrown forward, as though he’d only just stopped himself from grabbing him. For a moment there was genuine distress in his face, but then he rearranged his expression to a sort of relaxed, good-natured sheepishness. “I mean, it’s after office hours. And the assignment is tomorrow. And I really don’t want Professor Flack to know I – left things this late. Again.”

Usually Ben hated that excuse, when people thought they deserved some kind of special consideration simply because they couldn’t manage their time like proper adults, but Sharpe’s voice gave him pause. It wavered, ever so slightly, and his eyes kept dropping away. He might try to hide it, but Ben spent a lot of time with someone who tried to hide everything, and he could tell. Sharpe really was worried.

“I’m not sure what I can do…” Ben began apologetically, but trailed off as Sharpe looked up at him hopefully. 

“You could supervise me? The head librarian chap, he said I’m allowed in if someone keeps an eye on me. You certainly seem up to the job,” Sharpe added, softer, shifting his stance so he was a little closer. Something about his gaze had changed too, it was somehow sideways, looking at him with a bright interest. Ben couldn’t shake the feeling he was being laughed at. He also didn’t doubt if he turned Sharpe away he’d be hearing the alarm bells again within five minutes. 

Thinking longingly of the quiet stack of philosophy books, Ben nodded. “Very well, let’s get this over with. What books are you looking for?”

Sharpe took a moment to reply as he followed Ben to the main body of the library. A few students milled around or sat at the desks hunched over books, and a light rain pattered on the glass dome overhead. Amongst the peace and quiet, Sharpe seemed obnoxiously bright. Though, Ben had to admit, he probably seemed so anywhere. “Ah, actually, it’s… Magical Law.”

As soon as Sharpe said the words, Ben’s mind flew to the section, he could picture the exact shelf perfectly, down the books, and he turned right, leading them down the rows of shelves. “I didn’t realise that was a part of the third year syllabus,” he said, though he instantly realised he was only basing that on  _ his _ syllabus, and they undoubtedly did things differently at Widdershins. 

“Oh, you know, just doing a little reading around.”

“I thought you said this was for an assignment?”

“Reading around the assignment! Always important, so they say.”

Considering the assignment (if there even was such a thing) was supposedly due tomorrow, Ben would have thought perhaps starting with that would be best, but he was here to make sure Sharpe didn’t tear out any pages or whatever it was Mr Greene was afraid he would do, not offer academic advice. He stood quietly and watched, eagled-eyed, while Sharpe crouched in front of the shelves and examined the books carefully, one by one. Despite his fears, Sharpe was as good as his word and treated them, if not excellently, then at least adequately. At least, he gave Ben no cause to throw him out.

“What does this even say?” Sharpe muttered to himself as he leafed through a heavy volume. “I’ve never even heard of a  _ Clarke vs Gordons.” _

“Court references are in another section,” Ben replied automatically. “Have you made your selection?”

Sharpe glanced back at the shelf and grabbed one seemingly at random. "Yes, I'm sure this'll do nicely."

"Come on then. There are some tables free by the front desk. I won't have you completely disrupting my work day."

"Thank you, I  _ do _ appreciate your assistance," Sharpe said as they started back up the aisle. He held the book close to his chest, the title hidden, and his tone was just a little too bright. Something about the whole situation was beginning to niggle at Ben. "Still, I suppose it must be nice to have the occasional break from the books?"

Ben thought of the past fortnight – the shock of Ms Barber's disappearance, Vee's grief for her missing friend, O'Malley's refusal to come forward, the black, sodden remains of everything he owned, the crowded boarding house – and removed his glasses to rub his eyes with finger and thumb. "The books have  _ been _ the break."

When he replaced his glasses, Shape was staring at him. 

“You…” he said slowly, eyes wide. “You were there in the hall, weren’t you? You’re the one who stopped Pride. That’s why I recognise you.”

Ben froze, then shook his head. “No, you must be mistaken.”

“I’m sure of it. When you took your glasses off, I could tell. I wouldn’t forget a face like yours,” Sharpe added, grinning in such a way Ben was convinced there was a joke in there, somewhere.

Until O’Malley was ready to come forward as the Witch, they’d all agreed to keep the details of the Sins Incident quiet. Ben cast his eyes about. Nobody seemed to be close enough to hear, but he lowered his voice even so. “No one person was responsible for weakening it. It was only possible through the combined efforts of everyone.”

“So you  _ were _ here for it!”

“I work here.”

“You only started last week, Mr  _ New _ Librarian.”

"What does it matter anyway?" Ben asked, scowling. The whole thing with O'Malley aside, he didn't particularly want his role gaining too much publicity either. Once upon a time he would have, but now he could only imagine the inquisitive students and the probing questions and the disruption to the carefully curated peace he was trying to build at work. Perhaps if his role had been a little more glamorous, like Wolfe with his violin or Mr Malik and that strange malform of his, he might feel a little different. As it was, he couldn't actually remember what had happened in that hall with perfect clarity, it was a blur of shakey adrenaline and hysteria, but he was fairly certain he'd shouted some mortifying stuff and probably cried and generally made a state of himself, which of course had been the idea, but he still didn't like the idea of the entire university knowing. It was hard enough to get anyone to listen to him as it was. 

"Because whoever it was is probably a very skilled wizard." Sharpe raised his eyebrows. "And he might be able to answer a little question of mine."

"I can try," Ben replied, before quickly correcting himself. "I'm not saying it  _ was _ me, but I can try nevertheless."

"Right, so, the general consensus on how to escape the mirrors was one had to say something they were ashamed of, correct?" 

"That's… what I've heard, yes."

"Right, yes. But, ah…" Sharpe frowned and looked away, his grip on the book tightening. "That something… did it have to be true? It couldn't be made up for the moment?"

"No." This Ben was absolutely certain on. You couldn't cheat magic. Youccouldn't lie or hide your feelings. Not when it  _ was  _ your feelings. "It might not have been  _ accurate _ , but one certainly had to  _ believe  _ it to be true."

Sharpe sighed and he may only have been three or four years younger than Ben but he suddenly looked little more than a schoolboy. Now that irritatingly bright grin wasn't half blinding him, Ben could see the bags gathering under his eyes, the tight line of his mouth. "I see. And I suppose if one believes in an awful secret, they should probably do something about it."

Alarm bells rang again, internally this time. "Listen, if you're in trouble–"

"No, no trouble! As long as I get started on this reading." With a laugh, Sharpe started walking again, bringing his hand to Ben's elbow to bring him along too. He didn't seem to notice when Ben shrugged him off, already back to his confident self.

When they reached an empty table away from any other students and in sight of the front desk, Ben stopped and gave Sharpe a stern look. "Sit here, read quietly, don't touch anything else," he said, then, as an afterthought, "Find me if you need any help." Ben couldn't shake the feeling he might need it, and not with some probably fake assignment.

Sprawled comfortably over the hard wooden chair, Sharpe looked up at him and winked. "Will do, Mr New Librarian." He laughed softly at Ben's disgruntled expression before turning more serious again, his eyes sliding down to the book. "And… thank you for all your help already."

"It  _ is  _ my job," Ben replied primly. He didn't want Sharpe thinking he'd charmed any special treatment of out him.

"I thought I was just doing mine, but…" Sharpe sighed and opened the book to the very first page. Ben got the sense he wasn't talking to him anymore. "Suppose I should start on this. I've got a lot to figure out."

  
  
  
  



	2. Chapter 2

It might have been agreed that O’Malley being the Witch would be kept quiet until he was ready to come forward, but Ben remained adamant that time must come, and soon. Keeping that kind of thing hidden was preposterous. Every time he raised the issue though, O’Malley shut it right back down. 

A typical discussion might be:

“But you must inform the authorities! The Anchor hasn’t had a Witch for years, it’s vital they-”

“I’m not gonna.”

“You have a _duty!_”

“Nah.”

It was impossible. Mal didn’t even shout like he used to, simply spoke firmly, sullenly, eyes on the floor and an absently burning cigarette between his fingers. When they argued properly it was easy, a frantic volley of words until either they were both spent or Wolfe stepped in with a compromise. It was like arguing with a brick wall at times, but a brick wall that could be knocked down, eventually.

This was more like… an ancient stone cliff, utterly immoveable, not even roused to anger. Even though Ben usually thought of O’Malley as younger than him (he certainly acted it) the description felt right. Ever since the incident, O’Malley had seemed very tired, and very, very old. 

Ben didn’t know what to do, so he did what he always did. He kept trying.

The next Ben heard of Sharpe was from Wolfe, though he didn't know it then.

“Oh, look at this, Ben,” Wolfe said one evening, raising his head from the newspaper he was reading on his bunk. “One of your students has been arrested!”

Ben, who was focusing very hard on the book he’d borrowed from work and _not_ the noisy, cramped, dirty boarding house room, didn’t look up. “As I’ve explained before, they’re not _my_ students. I’m just a librarian.” And a junior one at that, he didn’t add. “But yes, they sometimes do that. It’s the drinking. They’ll be let go again tomorrow.”

"Hm, I am not so sure. They have been arrested for 'crimes against magic,' it seems."

That caught Ben's attention. He placed the book in his lap and frowned. Understandably, he tried to keep an eye on magical law cases. "Goodness."

"Y'sure?" O'Malley asked from his top bunk, rolling over to stick his head over the side. (Ben winced as the wood creaked - he was always certain the bunks were about to collapse at any second.) He'd been so quiet all evening Ben had thought him asleep, for once not disappeared off to the Anchor or goodness knows where after his work at the stables finished. "From ‘ow Ben says I wouldn'ta thought any o' ‘em were bright enough t' do tha'."

_"Pff!" _Ben covered his laugh with a cough, and picked up his book again. "Well, I'm sure the authorities will sort it out soon enough." Perhaps an interesting case would take the Captain's mind off things a little, not that he voiced that thought aloud. It was a rare calm evening and he saw no reason to remind everyone of such unpleasantness.

So he went back to his reading, and the article was forgotten. For the moment.

Making friends had never come easily to Ben.

Wolfe and O’Malley were his friends, but he hadn't been given much choice in the matter. Though, in fairness, neither had they. It just seemed to be what happened when you were forced to share a tumbledown house and face down Deadly Sins together.

Making friends the normal way, with the mundane minutiae of tea breaks, and complaining about teachers/parents/bosses, and talking about things you found interesting without getting called a swot and told to stop lecturing when you were only trying to tell them about a fascinating paper you’d read at two in the morning last night -- all of those little day by day interactions that somehow built to connection for most, friendship like that had always felt _beyond_ him somehow. It wasn’t just spirits you needed some unidentifiable ‘spark’ to get on with it seemed.

All that aside, the end result was it took him almost a full day to realise the gossip sweeping the university was not the usual who's seeing who, so-and-so's new haircut and did you hear what she said to him, but all focused on one name. 

William Sharpe.

"I can hardly believe it," said Ms Darby, an elderly part-time librarian who insisted on referring to Ben as 'a slip of a thing,' and offering him sweeties every time she saw him. It was possible she thought he was one of the students. She was sharing a tea break with Mr Greene in the staff room, and Ben couldn't help but overhear their conversation as he sorted through some paperwork on another table. "He was always such a polite young man."

"To you perhaps," Mr Greene retorted. "To the rest of us he was a nuisance, plain and simple.” He turned a page of his newspaper and tutted. “Still, hanging's a nasty business, I hope they're not too harsh on the lad."

Ben's pencil scratched to a halt as he looked up. "Hanging? What has he done?"

This was the first time he'd willingly joined a casual conversation, and Mr Green looked at him in surprise. "Goodness, Mr Thackerey, haven't you heard? He was arrested for crimes against magic, of all things. The trial is next week, but sounds like a sure thing already."

"Oh… I see."

"You'd think his teachers would keep a closer eye on him," Ms Darby said, shaking her head as she dunked another biscuit into her tea. "And think about what they were teaching him! Whatever he did, he must have learnt it off them, because he certainly didn't come in here enough to learn it from books! Are you feeling alright, Mr Thackerey? You've gone rather pale. Would you like a biscuit?"

  
  


By the time Wolfe returned to the boarding house Ben was tightly wound and ready to snap. He’d tried to talk to O’Malley to take his mind off things, but as his anxiety built he kept losing track of the conversation, unable to banish the day’s awful news from his mind. Though O’Malley hadn’t blamed him, it was no surprise when he’d retreated to his bunk and pulled the pillow over his head in defence against the headaches the busy dorm often brought.

So Ben had been left to his own devices, which consisted of sitting on his bed with his knees to his chest, running every scrap of information he'd heard that day through his mind. It didn’t improve matters.

He was on his feet the moment Wolfe walked through the door. “Wolfe! Do you still have your paper from yesterday?”

“No, I am afraid we used it for the fire,” Wolfe replied, walking past Ben to sit down heavily on his bed. "I do have today’s either, sorry. _Guten Abend_, Mal, how are you?"

The tangle of limbs, thin blanket and pillow on the top bunk shifted and the entire bed creaked. "Headache," O'Malley grunted. A pause. "Gettin' better." _Now that you're here,_ Ben could almost hear unsaid.

"I am sorry to hear." Wolfe placed his violin case on the floor, closed his eyes and breathed deeply for a moment, then slid it along to lie neat against the wall, each movement sluggish and considered. Although he spoke with excitement of his new job, it was clear the combination of long days, stress, and not truthfully enough to eat were wearing him out. True to form, he hadn't spoken a word of complaint. As his eyes turned back to Ben, he frowned slightly. "Is something the matter, my friend? You seem troubled."

"They're going to hang him," Ben said in a helpless rush. He hadn't planned to tell the others, but the words spilled out like a confession.

"Who?"

"The boy from the library, Sharpe. He was the one in that article yesterday."

"Oh yes, I remember." Wolfe's face clouded as he shook his head. "That is sad news. Still, perhaps he will be found innocent yet."

Ben felt a stab of irrational anger and clenched his fists. "Half the town is saying he did it, without even knowing what 'it' is!”

“Gossip is a terrible thing.”

“They say the sentence is already foregone! We simply have to do something! Talk to the Captain, or--"

"Please, calm--"

"This is serious! They're going to _hang_ him! So don't tell me--"

"Oi, tha's enough," O'Malley said, sitting up from his pile of bedding, bright blue eyes gleaming. Ben repressed a shiver — no matter how often he told himself the strange light sometimes glimpsed in O’Malley’s eyes was just a trick of the mind, he could never quite shake the feeling of something _unearthly_ when he looked like that. "Some o' us got an early start t'morrow. Bloody stables," he added with a grimace.

The normally busy room had fallen quiet, Ben realised, the other men halted in their reading and chatter to watch from the corners of their eyes. With effort, sank to the edge of his bed, forcing slow breaths through his tight chest. “We’ve got to do something,” he repeated quietly, his voice sounding very small.

Wolfe looked at him, weary green eyes filled with concern. “Please, try and be sensible now,” he said gently. Too gently, like Ben was made of glass, and it was _awful_, that wasn’t how Ben wanted to be at all. He couldn’t be the one to fall apart when they were all trying so hard to hold it together, but the awful news had felt like a crack inside him and now he wasn’t sure he was all that strong after all. He said nothing and let Wolfe speak. “What could we do in this situation? We are not policemen, or lawyers. You would go to the Captain and say, 'this nice young man flirted with me--"

"I told you, he wasn't--," Ben muttered, blushing a little despite himself because Wolfe had found the story of their meeting _very_ amusing, but Wolfe wasn't listening anyway. 

"--for one afternoon, he cannot have committed a crime'? I do not think she would be best pleased, no? And it is not as though you know anything of the real events."

Ben pushed his glasses up so he could rub his eyes with his hands. “I know, I know.” It did sound ridiculous said like that. But all day he’d been plagued by the need to do _something._

“It is a very sad thing, I understand your upset-”

“No, you don’t.” He was sounding rude and snappy again, Ben knew, and he sighed, shaking his head. Everything seemed so heavy and insurmountable lately, and it would be much easier if he knew specifically what he was meant to be surmounting. “I mean, I certainly don’t. It’s just… _tsk. _I’m being foolish, I suppose.”

Wolfe smiled, still gently, too gently, for Ben’s taste but he was glad of it all the same. “Not at all. You have a kind heart, Ben. It is only natural you fear for this young man. But we cannot fix every problem, so we should focus on those we can, _ja?_ We have had a… challenging few weeks, but I am sure if we keep working hard things will be looking up soon. Don’t you think, Mal?”

O’Malley, curled in his bunk again, didn’t reply. Somehow Ben doubted he was truly asleep.

“You’re being selfish, not coming forward, you know that? Selfish, and, and childish! Not to mention cowardly—”

“Yer jus’ gonna list words all night or can I get some sleep?”

“You’re an absolute nightmare.”

“Aye, heard tha’ one before.”

The next couple of weeks passed in a kind of malaise.

Nothing changed in particular. Ben worked in the library during the day and returned to the boarding house at night. Wolfe worked at the music hall late into the night and slept much of the day. O’Malley… disappeared, frequently. His work at the stables began early and often Ben would fall asleep before he’d returned to his bunk. All questions about his whereabouts were avoided, but Ben suspected he haunted the Anchor, still searching for a way to bring Ms Barber back.

When they saw each other it was in snatches, occasional meals and short, yawn-laden conversation between rotating shifts and sleep patterns, or Ben’s increasingly pointed attempts to make O’Malley see reason. He hated doing it, hated _needing_ to do it, because he never made any progress and it always sent everyone to bed in an awful mood, but what else was he to do? O’Malley had to made to see sense. It was just highly unfortunate that meant Ben had to spend his sparse time with his friends like that.

After over a year of living and working together the difference was stark. He’d never thought he’d miss O’Malley perched on the edge of his desk as he tried to work, smoking and throwing out sarcastic comments, or Wolfe’s spontaneous decisions to rearrange the kitchen or some such nonsense, born from a deep but misguided desire to be helpful that always resulted in more trouble. But while lying in bed trying to block out the noise of the whole dorm sleeping, he found himself thinking fondly of what only two months ago had been his day to day. Back then he’d often privately (and not so privately) bemoaned the strain of near-constant interaction with the odd pair, savouring every snatch of peace alone; now, he was never alone, had never wanted their company more, and ruined every moment he got.

Sometimes he thought he should say something, but then there was the question of _what._ He still didn’t know what he was trying to surmount, only to keep trying. And they were all busy, working to rebuild a life. He certainly wasn’t going to give them any reason to worry about him. He knew Vee had asked Wolfe to keep an eye on him.

So things continued as they were for a little while. 

When they changed, it was for the worse.

Ben returned from work to find both Wolfe and O’Malley out, but for once he didn’t mind. He’d borrowed an interesting book on imbued metals -- not his usual favourite topic, but it reminded him of summer afternoons with Vee in Granddad’s workshop -- and was looking forward to losing himself in it for a while. When he sat on his bed, however, he noticed a piece of paper sticking out from under Wolfe’s pillow. The bed was neatly made (that at least Wolfe was always fastidious about) and something about the paper looked very precise. It certainly wasn’t a stray sheet from his journal or anything like that. It had been left, deliberately.

Something uneasy settled in Ben’s stomach and he quickly laid down his book. Snooping was wrong, of course. But he had a _bad_ feeling about that paper.

Throughout his studies, he’d been repeatedly reminded he was severely lacking the natural intuition great wizards possessed. On the occasions he did get an inkling of that sixth sense, it paid to heed it. 

Ben got to his feet and snatched up the paper before he could change his mind. It was folded carefully into quarters and as he opened it up, he caught a whiff of tobacco and something sweet. The uneasy feeling tightened.

_Gone fer a walk!_ the unfamiliar handwriting read, liberally peppered with hearts. Unfamiliar in script, but the voice was there, and there was only one person Ben knew who insisted on writing words as he said them and proper spelling be da- er, _ignored_.

For a moment he just looked at the paper. It was too strange, too unexpected, it meant nothing. Then the anxiety kicked in. 

Even before the fire, O’Malley had kept few possessions. Now the little he had took up a quatre of his and Wolfe’s shared shelf. Ben rushed over, scanning for clues. Instantly he saw the leather bag Ms Barber had left behind was gone, along with the little tin of biscuits O’Malley kept for the malforms, and one or two of his shirts. Everything else, including his blue scarf remained in place as far as Ben could see.

“_O’Malley...”_ Ben muttered, running a hand along the empty space of the shelf. He had no idea if he wanted to yell and thump the shelf until it splintered or cry or just stand there doing nothing forever because yet another thing had gone horribly, horribly wrong and he really wasn’t sure what else he could do anymore.

The door opened and Ben turned, hope flaring before fizzling away again - it was Wolfe, smiling wide, newspaper in hand. 

“Ben!” he exclaimed, waving the paper. “Have you seen the evening headlines yet?”

Ben barely glanced at it. “It can wait,” he said, and the gravity must have been evident in his face because Wolfe’s smile died before his eyes. “I’m afraid I have some bad news.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll post the next chapter in the next few days once it's edited! Been a busy month so took a while to get back to this, I hope you enjoyed! :)


	3. Chapter 3

Ben had never argued with Wolfe before, not like he had with O’Malley. Minor disagreements over trivial matters forgotten in minutes, half-joking debates over books, little things of that sort were all. But as the days passed and O’Malley still didn’t return, tensions crept higher and higher, spilling out into increasingly heated debates until Ben found himself yelling at Wolfe in a way he never had before, and, what’s worse, Wolfe almost yelling back.

“It it how he sounds though!”

“Well it certainly isn’t how he writes! It’s  _ legible _ for a start!”

“But it was left on my bunk!”

“Anyone could have--”

And so on.

He did eventually see the headlines, hear the news about Sharpe’s release, but in the wake of O’Malley’s disappearance it hardly registered. Ben knew what he was supposed to be surmounting now, and didn’t have a clue how to go about it. Not even which direction he should keep trying in. 

Things came to a head, eventually, inevitably.

It was early morning. Ben was up to go to work and Wolfe should have been dead to the world, only having got in a few hours before. Ever since O’Malley had left he hadn’t been sleeping well though, and so he was also up and exhaustedly stumbling about, dark shadows under his eyes.

Ben didn’t notice how it started. A few absentminded comments thrown out while rising and dressing, a few more sharp retorts, an exasperated sigh from one or both of them, the same tired lines repeated stronger and stronger, heat rising until they were once again locked in an impassioned back and forth, showing themselves up and making Ben late for work most likely, but no more able to stop than a loose cart hurtling downhill because it wasn’t the kind of argument you could walk away from, you were strapped in tight, you couldn’t just throw yourself from the cart. Either it would roll to a stop or smash itself to pieces.

“If Mal has chosen to go then there is nothing we can do!”

“Why not?”

“It is his choice and we  _ must _ respect that!”

“And if it wasn’t his choice?”

“We have been over this, the note —”

“I’m not talking about the note. I’m talking about if something — someone  _ forced  _ him to go.”

“Who would possibly—?”

“It was me!” The words hung in the air, the sudden space and silence in the aftermath of the crash, and Ben lowered his eyes. “It’s clearly my fault he left. I kept pressuring him about coming forward, and he decided he’d had enough. I’ve driven him away and… that’s that.”

“Ben, I—”Wolfe stepped towards him, but Ben dodged round and made for the door. 

“I have to go, I’m going to be late,” he said, and shut the door behind him.

To his shame, he was late, but not by much, and he supposed Mr Greene had seen in his face something awful, because he let him off with a warning. More perceived fragility. Ben wrote up the late slip himself.

He was busy organising the new stock when the alarms went off. It was now midsummer, with most of the students home and therefore this was a rare occurrence in recent weeks. Curious, he laid the copy of  _ Advancements in Incantations _ he’d been examining on the desk, and made his way to the entrance.

On the way, he was intercepted by a curly-haired boy, twisting his hands together as his wide eyes darted about. “Are you the l-librarian?”

“I am--” Ben began, and the boy continued in a flustered rush.

“We’re really sorry! I don’t know w-what happened but when we tried to come in the floor stuck and—”

It was an explanation Ben was already familiar with from far too many hapless students. He held out his hands and the boy trailed off. “It’s the automagic security alarm, nothing to worry about. Just let me check everything’s as it should be and I can turn it off.”

Exhaling, the boy’s shoulders relaxed. “O-okay.” He followed at Ben’s shoulder, still wringing his hands, as they made their way back to the doors. “Will said it happened before so if I found-”

“Will?”

“Yes, um, he’s m-my…”

They rounded the last corner and Ben’s suspicions were confirmed. Stood in the middle of the entrance with both feet firmly stuck to the ground and the kind of casual air that suggested he was stood in this awkward position solely because he wanted to be, was Sharpe. 

“You!” Ben exclaimed, stopping in his tracks.

Sharpe looked up and, as he took in Ben, broke into possibly the first genuine smile he’d seen him give. He waved cheerfully. “Mr New Librarian! Hi, how’s it going? Sorry, I really had no idea I’d still be on the ban list. You’d have thought they’d have taken me off, right?”

“What are you doing here?” Ben asked, incredulous. Although he’d been glad to hear of Sharpe’s release, he hadn’t given it much thought since, and he’d been firmly placed in the category of ‘people I’ll never have to deal with again.’ The sudden turnabout was taking his mind a moment to get over. “I thought the university expelled you.  _ Prohibe Phasmia.” _

The alarms fell silent and Sharpe stumbled as his feet were unstuck, but the other boy was waiting and offered a stabilising hand. “Thank you,” Sharpe muttered and patted his hand. Then he looked back to Ben. “Oh yes, they did, I work at the apothecary now. I’m just accompanying Vincent. He’s going to study Law here in September,” he added with obvious pride.

Vincent blushed and looked down. “Will! You’ve got to stop telling people that, I haven’t even got in y-yet...”

“Okay, okay!” Sharpe replied, laughing, then raised his eyebrows at Ben and stage-whispered, “He’s definitely going to though.”

“I wish you the best of luck,” Ben said and Vincent mumbled his thanks, smiling shyly as he shifted on the spot, his eyes flicking up to Sharpe every few seconds. Even to someone as generally oblivious as Ben it was clear they were desperately smitten with each other. Usually the lovestruck couples who inexplicably believed the library was an appropriate place to, er,  _ associate _ were some of Ben’s least favourite people to deal with. Right now though, he looked at Sharpe and hardly recognised the scared boy he’d met all those weeks ago. He was leaner perhaps, his hair less glossy, but the bags under his eyes were gone, he stood lighter somehow, and when he looked at Vincent he smiled easily, genuinely, openly. After the… less than ideal state of the past few months, it came as a strange relief that something, finally, had turned out at least kind of alright. Even if it was nothing to do with him really. “If you need any assistance when you’re in the library--”

“Oh yeah, he looks grumpy, but Mr Thackerey is actually really nice,” Sharpe said to Vincent, and gave Ben a wink. “I told you about when he helped me out, remember? Didn’t even tell the librarian boss man on me.”

“You told me Mr Greene said you were allowed in if I watched you,” Ben replied, narrowing his eyes. He was surprised Sharpe had remembered his name at all, and decided against telling Wolfe that little detail later — they’d already disagreed over whether the moniker was flirtation (ridiculous) or simply easier to remember than a name, and he didn’t want Wolfe thinking he was right.

If Wolfe would even talk to him again.

Sharpe grinned sheepishly. “I may have stretched the truth a  _ little _ ?”

“Oh, you’re ‘Mr New Librarian?’” Vincent asked brightly, derailing the scolding Ben had been mentally preparing. “Will told me about y-you! Thank you for helping him!”

Ben clicked his tongue. “ _ Tsk.  _ I only showed him where the books were.”

“No, the other stuff. He said y-you helped him decide to do something, about the… everything.”

“In retrospect that something probably shouldn’t have been ‘get myself arrested,’” Sharpe said, far more lightly than Ben felt the situation called for. “Though then I wouldn’t have met you,” he added, slipping his hand into Vincent’s. “So it worked out in the end.”

“Excuse me?” Ben didn’t usually pry into others’ relationships, but it was such a bizarre statement the question slipped out by mistake. He’d assumed Vincent was Sharpe’s partner from before the whole event, but now it seemed they’d met in prison? Vincent certainly didn’t appear a criminal, especially not as an aspiring Law student. Then again, there were a lot of strange people in this town.

“Uh, w-we’ve taken up up enough of your time,” Vincent said, and gave a nervous smile. “Thanks again for letting us in. I should get s-studying though. Will, you said you know where the Magical Law books are?”

“Uh huh. I had a  _ very _ good guide.” As he led Vincent off by the hand, Sharpe flashed Ben one of his brilliant smiles, and this one was definitely teasing, but for once Ben didn’t feel like the joke was on him. “See you, Mr Not-Quite-So-New-Anymore Librarian.”

Ben rolled his eyes, and decided not to correct him when he turned off in the completely wrong direction. They’d find their way eventually.

Instead, he returned to the journals he’d been sorting, but found his mind couldn’t settle back to the task. What was it he’d said to Sharpe that day, to spur him to action? They’d talked about the library, and the Pride incident, then Sharpe had asked him something, about if the statement had to be true? Of course it did, Ben had replied, but Sharpe had added something strange. Something about if one admitted something, one needed to act.

Leaning back in his seat, Ben sighed, then instantly regretted it as he disrupted the paper spread across the table. Unfortunately Sharpe had a point. He had acknowledged responsibility, how could he in good conscience ignore that? Even  _ Sharpe _ hadn’t ignored that. Wolfe might not like it, but maybe now he would understand. Ben  _ needed _ to do what in truth, they should have two weeks ago.

They found O’Malley eventually: cold, miserable, skinnier, and a long way from what even without a house Ben knew they all thought of as home. He seemed surprised they’d come after him, sulking through Wolfe’s emotional tirade like a child, before, when given a chance to explain himself, muttering, “Dunno what th’ fuss is anyway, would think ye’d  _ missed _ me or summat.”

“We did,” Ben replied instantly, and O’Malley stared at him like he’d been slapped. “Of course we did, you absolute moron, we’re your  _ friends _ . How did you  _ think  _ we would feel?”

O’Malley went quiet at that, and then Wolfe had explained to him, in painstaking detail, everything they had done from discovering his note to finding him. When he was done, O’Malley agreed to return.

He’d always been Wolfe’s shadow and never more so than on the journey back. To reach O’Malley quickly, they’d snuck aboard a freight train - a horrible, noisy, dirty thing. Ben insisted they take a passenger train fit for human transport home.

With O’Malley found safe, the urgency that had powered Ben for the past few weeks drained away, and he found himself drifting half asleep, propped against the window of the compartment, with O’Malley and Wolfe sat opposite, O’Malley curled up in his seat and Wolfe sprawled, exhausted, but always watchful. They spoke occasionally, low voices mixing with the rhythm of the train, and Ben let the sound wash over him without picking out individual words, his eyelids growing heavy and breathing slow.

“He asleep?” O’Malley asked, and Ben vaguely registered he was being talked about but he was far too tired for conversation and so said nothing.

“I think so,” Wolfe replied. “It has been a long day. A long few weeks, in fact.”

“Hrm.” There was a rustling, probably O’Malley getting his dirty boots on more of the carriage, but Ben’s eyes had somehow fallen shut and he couldn’t summon the energy to open them and scold him. “Ben said… ‘e said ye both…”

“We missed you, yes, of course.”

“Right, right. But, erm. I thought…”

“Yes?”

“I thought if ye came, it would be ‘cause o’... Th’ witch thing. ‘im at least. But… Nobody can lie t’ me. I jus’ see if they try. So… I’d see if ‘e were jus’ makin’ it up, t’ get me t’ come back, wouldn’t I?”

“I believe so. But, Mal. I do not think you need your Sight to know he was telling the truth, do you not?”

“Mrm. Jus’, strange, is all.” A pause, and when O’Malley spoke again it was slow, stilted despite a forced air of casuality. “I, erm. Ye both. Y’know. Too. Also.” Another pause. “Oi, stop - stop  _ smilin’  _ like that, ye great sap.”

And even though he knew it wasn’t aimed at him, they thought him asleep in his corner and in truth he very nearly was, Ben smiled a little wider too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello i hope u had fun. i am very tired. thank u for reading. i hope they meet in canon it'll be lit.

**Author's Note:**

> This was for bentober, as such it's a little rushed and I'll probably edit properly later. I hope you enjoyed :)


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